


Pirates of the Caribbean Drabble Collection

by fried_flamingo



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fried_flamingo/pseuds/fried_flamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles that I posted separately on Livejournal, but decided to post as a collection, as part of my re-archiving project.  And all of them 100 words on the nose!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pirates of the Caribbean Drabble Collection

**The Temptation of Psyche**

The forbidden place draws her; pitch-dark and silent, his eyes paint warning signs.

_Turn back. You cannot go there._

But she has stepped from that cliff, trusting Zephyrus to halt her plunge. The West Wind caught her, carried her, bid her wait. 

Then, nameless and night-veiled, he comes, traces paths across skin, finds kisses hidden upon her lips, buries himself until she pleads for release.

Her question. _Who are you?_

His reply. _Don’t look._

Curiosity, though, burns like lamp’s oil, reveals truths long hidden.

Beauty smiles, the arrow pierces. She sees, at last, no monster after all.

~~~

**Contraposto**

Swaggering. 

‘Twas the only word to describe him, though she’d frequently sought others. Brash, arrogant. He ascended the stairs like a king to his throne, bowed to his subjects, tilted his hips and posed, like Buanarotti’s naked youth, languid and exquisite. His grin remained as they bound his wrists, laid the hempen garland across his throat; pale against that slick, tawny marble. 

Wood snapped and he dropped, no ardent blacksmith as saviour. 

_No!_

Twisted in shame-sodden sheets, she wakes, Will carved into her mind. 

_He escaped,_ she remembers. _He lived. No guilt, no guilt._

In her mind, his hips tilt. 

~~~ 

**Chiaroscuro**

At the top of the stairs, he stops, eyes finding her immediately, like a peregrine upon a hare. 

_He knows what I am._

Eyes dance, reading the hues writ upon her skin. 

_Shall I draw thee?_ he asks. _Shall I paint your light and shade?_

_Too late,_ she thinks, _too late._

He falls, then flies. Wind-borne, his fair maid catches him.

Later, her fingers follow what paths his hands may have traced; she arches into the touch. 

He was saved this time, but her lips still sting with want. Elizabeth welcomes the dark, and wonders how long he can escape. 

~~~

**Exulatis** (This one is based in the non-canon universe of At World's End: Redux) 

_"I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope."_ \- Aeschylus, Agamemnon 

In the dark, he dreams of her. Sleep comes rarely in this nightmare realm, but in those few fleeting moments, visions plague him. Skin, sweat, scent. He feels her slick warmth around him even as he gasps awake. 

The Other knows his thoughts and calls taunts from his Midas throne. Jack hears their truth and shivers in blackness, in rags, in despair. 

She won’t come. 

But the glass is real in his hand, the liquid inside more precious than gold. There isn’t much, but there’s enough. He’ll save it. 

In the dark, he dreams of her; he knows she’ll come. 

~~~ 

**Futures Read**

“I know what I want.” 

She doesn’t turn at Jack’s muttered defence; she’s watching the boy now, reading the portents writ upon his skin. Her hand snakes out, snatching the flask from Jack’s grasp, pouring rum into her palm. She spits and mixes with her finger, looks on with a seer’s eyes. “So you do. But do you claim it?” 

He bats her hand aside. “Don’t buy you as a teller of fortunes, love, and it ain’t leaves yer readin’ there.” 

“But I read you all de same. Do you claim her?” 

“I never would.” 

She wishes she believed him. 

~~~ 

**Sunlight**

With sunlight, comes loathing. Surprising, that day should permit such a dark facet of the soul. But shadows shrink in noon’s glare and hatred has nowhere to hide; light picks out its edges, sharpens them, keeps them keen. Jack imagines her skin tearing on those edges and smiles. 

By night, thoughts change; sleep, when it comes, is torrid and storm-tossed. Visions of her skin plague him still, but in dreams, his fingers draw lines through a sweat-glaze and he wakes, hard and breathless. 

He longs for dawn, knows what cravings it will bring, thinks Hell might be his only sanctuary. 

~~~ 

**Adrift**

“I’m lost,” Jack tells the dark; by his side, she sleeps on. The compass sits upon the table, unwavering now, showing true north. Still he feels untethered and displaced. 

_I’ve drifted so far from myself. Can I find my way back?_ But midnight offers no answers; only the Pearl creaks her sullen reproach. 

Elizabeth stirs, drowsily reaching for him, her dreams bringing need to the fore. 

He falls, gasping into her hair, clutching at her waist, her thighs, trying to find an anchor. 

She strokes his face in the moments after, spellbound, and he knows then that they’re lost together. 

~~~ 

**What shall we live for?**

The beach is smaller in the dark. Above, constellations arc across the heavens; to the Universe, grief is empty and the world won't slow its spin. 

The heart beats steadily, but she cannot bear to listen to the noise that flesh, not wood, should quieten. Instead she looks to the narrow cut in the sand where his sword crossed hers; proof that he passed this way once, proof that he was real. 

_How long should I stay here?_ she wonders, but already knows the answer. As long as she needs to. 

Elizabeth pulls her blade free and begins to walk. 

~~~ 

**Old Debts** (the next three are also from the Redux universe) 

Jack gathers trinkets like the scratched passing of days on a prison wall. 

“One more charm for you, my friend.” The old man’s grin cracks across a wizened face, skin slack as canvas in windless waters. His eyes, though, glint like the passing of centuries; his steely gaze holds black deeds and dark regret. Fingers move, the piece of shine flies and Jack snatches it from the air. Somewhere, music plays… 

“A coin?” 

Another smile, toothed and wet. “Repayment,” he says, and tells him of the debt. Jack draws another marker upon stone. The line seems thicker than the others. 

~~~ 

**Homecoming**

Seven years on, the dock sounds the same beneath his boots. The beating of his heart does not. His leaving, when it happened, was done calmly, with a grin. A twenty-year-old 

“Don’t ever return, Jackie. Keep the shilling, let it shield you, for there are worse coins to bear.” 

Teague’s words were marked, true enough. Why would he ever come back? 

Now, branded and beaten, the Cove clutches him in its bony fist. 

The gold disc hangs, thick as fate, from his hair. Destiny holds him now. 

~~~

**May the road rise up to meet you?**

Teague had toasted him when last they parted. Drunk, though none but Jack could tell. 

Words rasped in his father’s scarce used tongue. _May the wind always be at your back._

“And what of the first line, mate?” Jack’d asked. 

“Choose your road, Jackie,” the old man had said. “Don’t let it choose you.” 

Choice made, the toast sounds empty now; God opened his hand, it seems, but dropped the prize. 

Dusk approaches and Jack thinks of another toast. _May you be in Heaven half an hour before the Devil knows you're dead._

He wonders if it’ll take that long. 

~~~ 

**In Memoriam**

He’d touched her once since the musket ball punched her breast. Frozen fingers on a clay-cold cheek. 

“Let me take her,” the lad had asked, after the battle. “Let me take her home.” 

“She is home.” And the boy hadn’t argued, though his tears had rasped dry. 

Wrapped in stiff, white canvas, the sea claims her, swallows her, a mother eating her young. “You killed her. She died because of you.” Will spits the accusation, expects cowed penitence, but such contrition would be a lie. 

_She lived because of me._

Sympathy, not humility, stills his tongue. The boy knows enough. 

~~~ 

**Icarus, fallen** (reference points for this one are: Landscape with the Fall of Icarus by Brueghel the Elder and Musee de Beaux Arts by W.H. Auden. If you don't know them, have a google. I promise it's worth it) 

He’s tied together by string and wax, fragile bindings that let him soar for just a moment. 

The warmth of her sun summons him, gilds him in glory. A good man. 

Soft breath bears him aloft, stirring each oiled feather. _Let me comfort you,_ she whispers, let me bathe you in molten gold. He spirals upwards, yearning for azure, heedless of warnings given. 

Suddenly wax melts, string singes and frays. Tallow’s heat blisters his skin and wings crack, flapping in vain. The ocean’s salt balm welcomes him, legs kicking, and as he drowns he wonders, did anyone hear the splash? 


End file.
